Wolves of the Revolution
by TheDragon12
Summary: In an ancient day, under an unveiled moon, the hunter becomes the hunted, for the accusation of treachery rests heavy on his shoulders. Under the unveiled moon, the Huntress pursues an enemy of Olympus as is her duty, though she knows in her heart that the chase leads only to pain… for Love is a cruel mistress, and the Fates are even crueler…
1. Chapter 1

**This story was inspired by the song Wolves of the Revolution by The Arcadian Wild, so check it out! I heard this song and became hooked on it; I took the lyrics of the song and the story basically wrote itself. It will be a brief, perhaps four-chapter story, but if there's enough support and desire I may write a full story with this. Enjoy!**

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 _The goddess and the mortal met for the first time on a vibrant starry night, overlooking the great sea where moon and ocean work together in blissful harmony._

It was a quiet night. The snow on the ground muffled what soft stirrings there were in the forest, and few animals plodded through the woods. While the sun had set hours previously, the full moon cast its silver beams down upon and illuminated the ground below. The dark shadows that rested beneath the looming pines laid in sharp contrast to the glow of the soft snow that blanketed the undergrowth.

The undergrowth itself was almost entirely devoid of movement or sound. Few rodents scurried at this hour, and the breeze that ruffled the needles overhead did not reach the forest floor. This did nothing to stop the efforts of the few owls who perched in tall branches. Though their hunts were not met with success, the quiet fluttering of wings as they moved to different perches was the only sound to disturb the serenity present.

Countless stars blazed overhead, each individual pinprick of light contributing to the masterfully-painted tapestry hanging in the sky. But the stars in their glory were overshadowed, for it was the moon and her jealous beams that were emblazoned in the night sky. It was this moon that signaled the start of the hunt, the start of life for many. It was this moon that signaled approaching doom for one.

It was this moon that drew tides in and pushed them back out once more in an endless cycle. It was this moon that offered light to pierce the darkness, giving hope to the fearful. Yet it was this moon that was also the harbinger of night, the precursor of coming darkness. And for the one, it was the precursor of coming judgement.

Off in the distance, a form moved to the edge of a rocky outcropping; the crag stood tall and resolute above the dark sea of pines and spruces below. In the silence, the form's soft padding of steps fell upon sleeping ears like the pounding of a heart. It raised its head to the great moon and silver light reflected off sapphire eyes; four paws moved even closer to the open air below and a muzzle opened. In an instant, the silence of the night was shattered as the howl pierced the winter air.

As the call of the hunter echoed, herds of deer stirred for a moment from their rest and voles scurried away from the source. Rabbits turned over in their dens, uncaring, and the owl gazed at the ground more fiercely. The sound signaled the start of the hunt, the oncoming death, yet the forest remained calm. For the predators must hunt and the prey must run; so is the nature of life.

At the howl, a dark figure paused as ice seemed to shoot through his veins. He was not usually prey—far from it. In days past, he was mighty; in days past, he bore the crest of nobility...but he had been stricken down. Now, as the wolf's howl signified but the rise of the moon and the start of the hunt to those of the forest, it did so for him also. He was not of the forest, for trespasser was he, entering the domain of those who would give chase. He was no hunter.

For tonight he was hunted.

Fate, it seemed, had finally caught up to him...but it had yet to finish the chase, and he was not willing to submit so easily. A grim smile found his lips as he hefted the pack on his shoulder and grasped his dark bow tighter. From where he stood, a single ray of moonlight found an opening in the branches above and fell upon his face, bathing it in an ethereal silver glow. Onyx eyes met the moon above and the smile turned pained and longing for a moment before growing bitter and downcast. Sparing a final glance at the night sky, the man cast a dark hood over his face and stepped into darkness, dashing into a deeper part of the forest to his awaiting fate.

The moon continued its lofty ascent and the forest below continued to darken, save for the clearings that shone as if illuminated by the snow itself. Deep within those ancient pines, it grew so still that the heartbeat of a bedded stag gave a constant rhythm to the air. Through this silence, however, a new beat emerged—the soft crunch of snow that felt the tread of sprinting feet. Ever nearer, the sound drew. With it came the awakening of the forest's inhabitants. Bodies stirred from sleep, eyes opened lazily to catch a glimpse of the passing shadow before falling back to slumber.

A _crack_ groaned through the air as the figure vaulted off a fallen log and over a boulder. He landed silently and kept his dash steady under branch and between tree. The sound of crunching snow continued its rhythmic echo once more. Soon, however, the sound grew muddled. The beat grew faster, more chaotic, as others joined in.

The man sensed this and his gaze narrowed in determination, for fate drew ever nearer to him and he could not outrun it.

A howl sounded some distance away to his right. Once more his blood was chilled and a dark knife found its way into his hand. Another howl echoed through the branches to the right of him; one last howl came from behind him. His pursuers drew close now, sensing the potential kill.

He planted his booted foot in the snow and dove to the side, spinning away as something pierced the air where the back of his head had been but an blink of an eye before. He neither flinched nor looked back, instead continuing his sprint through the trees as the silver arrow found rest in the trunk of a pine with a low _thwip_ and remained there, quivering.

Two more arrows followed in its wake. Had the man not seemingly sensed the paths of the darts as they flew, the arrow that cut a clean slit in the edge of his hood would have buried its silver point in his skull. As it was, his erratic escape through the dark continued, undeterred.

More footsteps joined the fray. The heavy but soft treads of the booted man were surrounded by the quick padding of clawed paws, and these themselves were followed by a multitude of light, impossibly nimble steps. Together they moved through the forest in a dance. It was as a ballet, an artistic swirl of movement and grace as the cloaked figure avoided those who hunted him.

Ever deeper into the forest, the chase lead. The pines grew taller and more menacing, the darkness thickened. The silence was suffocating in the ancient wood, smothering the countless howls that echoed behind him. Frozen lichen draped itself like tapestry from the looming branches; moss wound its way up the towering trunks. The snow ceased to fall, but it laid heavy on the ground and threatened to swallow up the feet of those who now dared to invade these sacred groves. The air was thick with the unknown; a mist seemed to rise from the snow.

Arrows shattered the peaceful illusion. More frequently did the arrows pierce through the night sky now; none found their mark. Each one would have been a killing shot, yet each one was evaded. Argent wolves burst forth from the undergrowth with fangs exposed and claws reaching for blood, yet they too were dodged or cast aside. Each failed attack showed the anger growing in the wolves' preying eyes; each arrow that was lost to the forest was greeted with grit teeth and hisses of frustration.

The pursuit led over a brook not yet frozen in the cold. The man leapt over, nimble as a stag, but the wolves hesitated to follow. He savored the opportunity, for he was aware of the hesitations of those behind him. He dashed forward as the pursuers paused; for several moments they skulked before the shallow water, growling as it gurgled over stone and fall. Some reached paws out to the flowing surface only to pull them back, for this water they were loath to cross.

Even the archers behind them skidded to a stop through the snow as they approached the brook. Wary eyes flickered from the water to the man eluding them, who now faded into the darkness in the distance. Another figure appeared from behind them, this new one both taller and older than the rest, seemingly. The newcomer dashed through the brook without so much as a second thought, bearing a livid expression. When the figure crossed the brook without repercussion, the others quickly followed.

The lead the man had gained was slowly whittled away as the night drew on. The moon grew ever larger and brighter as the chase lengthened, as if to purge any shadow he could hide in. He did not relax at any moment—he knew that even though unseen, those who hunted him were ever watching, ever preying.

There seemed to be a sudden pulse of light from the moon, as if it looked on with excitement at the chase. He risked a glance skyward and his face paled. A low hum sounded in his ears and he turned to a tree impossibly quickly before vaulting off the trunk, soaring over three arrows that whizzed into the darkness. The man allowed himself a small smirk at the curse that silently pervaded the air behind.

Ever quicker they moved in the epic dance that covered a large swath of the frigid forest. So quickly, in fact, that parts of the forest were not large enough to contain it. Suddenly the trees grew thinner and more sparse around them. The scrubby brush grew taller and grasses poked out from the snow in some places. The darkness, even, was dispelled as the moon crashed down through the near-absent canopy and onto the glowing snow.

With a final grunt and leap, the man broke through the trees and into the clearing beyond. He kept the pack on his back strapped tightly to him, and even now a hand reached back to make sure it was secure. The gloved hand straightened the pack, touching it as one would a newborn child. Satisfied that all was well, the man gradually slowed to a stop. Booted feet unhappily came to rest in the snow, for there was simply no room left to run. In front of him was but open air, as the cliff at his feet dropped down far below.

Before him now sat the great sea. Like a great encircling wall, the unconquerable ocean rested, unforgiving. Even as it came into view, the man's eyes slowly drifted to it, his mouth opening slightly. He stood there now, still, as he beheld it. His heart leapt in his chest at the sight of it, and he swallowed uneasily at the threat of it, the threat that he longed for so deeply.

His dark eyes drifted skywards once more, to the moon that glowed above the sea. The moon had been brilliant when he was in the forest; but here in the open, its rays shone untainted. This, coupled with the reflective water below it, took his breath away.

Those eyes flickered between the sea and the moon, noting how the two worked in harmony. The soft sound of waves lapping on the shore far below him reached his ears. He could almost feel that tug in his gut, the tug the moon had on the sea. That which caused the water to be pulled in and pushed back out, to be brought high and low. His gaze darkened as the thought crossed his mind. Fists clenched in anger.

The snorting of a wolf alerted him to those who entered the clearing behind him. His gaze remained aimed at the sea as the entire group gradually made their way into the clearing. A sigh escaped his mouth. A shame, really, that those who hunted him had to disturb such a peaceful, bittersweet night. Two hands were raised to his hood, hesitating slightly before gripping the fabric and poignantly casting it down. The moon now shone upon the unkempt raven hair that fell almost to his shoulders.

Behind him, his several pursuers spread out in a crescent around the edge of the clearing, keeping their distance from the one who evaded them. When all were situated, one more entered the clearing. It was the leader, the one older than the rest. At the sight of the man standing solitary at the edge of the cliff, a great silver bow, shaped as the crescent moon, was raised and drawn taut. Without so much as a warning, an arrow was loosed at the back of the man.

A great _crack_ splintered the night sky.

There was a _whoosh_ of air and the Leader felt a kiss of wind as a dark arrow flew past the side of her head. A single strand of auburn hair slowly curled its way to the ground below on the windless night.

Silver eyes widened. The man stood erect now, turned towards her and her several companions. A dark bow was held up in his hands, the string still vibrating from the arrow it had cast. The arrow that had intercepted _her_ arrow mid-flight and flown straight through it, reducing it to splinters. The arrow that left a groove in the hair above her ear. The arrow that could have buried itself in her body, had he willed it.

She beheld his own eyes. The dark irises held a look of pain and longing… but there was also anger deep within. This anger seemed to grow now, becoming a wrath that darkened his eyes even further.

The eyes were set in a strikingly handsome face. A neatly trimmed black beard adorned his chiseled features and matched both the tunic he wore and the bow he held. Black leather vambraces covered his tunic at the forearm; heavy yet lithe dark trousers covered his legs above the tall hunting boots. Even the sheath belted to his waist was black. Everything he wore was dark.

That is, everything except for a single object: a simple silver band that encircled the ring finger on his left hand, now clearly visible as it grasped the tall bow.

She allowed an eyebrow to raise as her eyes focused on it. Her face heated up against her will, if only for the briefest of moments as she focused on on the ring. Her gaze flickered to her own left hand for an instant before meeting his eyes once more.

The man stared back at her with the same analyzing look. His eyebrows narrowed as he beheld her, and she allowed hers to do the same.

Her eyes settled on the pack strapped to his back, just barely appearing over his right shoulder. He could see as her eyes widened the most minute distance before settling back to normal.

In a single fluid movement, the two stepped towards each other on one accord. A companion opened her mouth as if to voice an objection, but the Lady silenced her with the raising of a hand. Without even casting a glance back towards her accompaniment, she continued to slink towards the man. As the two drew within fifteen paces of each other, they began to circle as wolves do to their prey. As if in response, the wolves of the Lady's troop began to circle the duo themselves, growling whenever the man made a move they deemed unacceptable. This, understandably, happened to be every move.

With determined, calculated steps they orbited each other. Behind them, the huntresses had their own bows drawn and aimed at the darkly-cloaked figure, ready to put him down should he threaten their Mistress.

The man inspected the woman before him. The silver tunic wrapped tightly around her attractive form matched her eyes. She had a form like a panther, ready to spring upon him with ferocity without a moment's notice. Even now her teeth were grit, her eyebrows angled dangerously downwards as she looked up at him from the distance. Twin silver knives found their way into her tensed hands.

In an instant, something shifted. Neither knew what it was or what caused it, whether it was simply a shift in the wind or something else, but the atmosphere darkened and pulsed with energy from the two. Without hesitation, they leapt at each other with blades drawn.

The dark knife of the man was the first to go—it flew past the Lady and she allowed herself to feel surprise at the errancy of the toss (as well as the fact that he would cast aside his weapon so quickly). This confusion was nullified when the blade splintered a silver arrow that had been shot at the man from her one of her companions.

The message was understood clearly: this fight was between the two, and them alone. In the lapse of battle, he drew a long bronze sword from a sheath at his side and the battle resumed.

The two dueled in an extreme display of unparalleled agility. No blades were visible, simply blurs of light as silver daggers met the single bronze blade in a nigh-invisible fight. The wielders, too, were but blurs as they fought. The man was a dark shadow as he twisted to avoid the strikes of his adversary, and the woman was but a silver streak as she slashed and stabbed her deadly blades.

The fight seemed to go on forever in an infinite and endless struggle between two equal beings, yet it was only several minutes. And the beings themselves were not equal…

With a feint and a sword-stroke, lithe arms were raised in defense and a booted leg swept out. The Lady was cast off her feet, landing with a soft yet resounding _thump_ in the snow. A bronze blade was at her exposed throat.

All she saw when she looked up was the smug smirk that graced the lips of the man before her. Eyes lightened considerably, shifting from a dark shade to the normal sea green, shining in the moonlight. But in that single moment, his defenses were lowered just enough to warrant regret.

As she watched, a silver arrow whistled through the air and found its mark in his breast. His mouth opened slightly and his eyes flickered between her and her handmaidens behind, one of whom now nocked a new arrow.

With the grace of a panther, something akin to a growl tore from the Lady's lips and she threw herself at the man with knife drawn. Though in his twist he dodged the worst of the slash, he still felt the silver's bite as it carved a crimson groove down his forearm.

Her eyes landed on the red blood that oozed from the gash and she gasped audibly. Her feet remained rooted in the snow and her body froze as she took in the sight; her stomach clenched and knotted within her as a feeling emanated within her, one she had not felt before in her existence.

When the knife pierced his skin, the man cried out and cast himself backwards towards the cliff's edge. She heard the mumblings of a prayer fall from his lips just as another arrow protruded from his shoulder and he sent himself over the edge.

In her frozen state she was too slow to act. This time it was _she_ who cried out and stretched out an arm in an attempt to preclude his fall. It was not to be, however, and her nimble fingers but grazed the fabric of his bloody tunic as his body met open air and disappeared over the snowy precipice.

A tear threatened to leak from her eye as she rushed to the edge and gazed over, desperate to find him clinging to a branch as Odysseus had done over Charybdis. It was not to be, for the stone was barren. Her stomach sank at that instant, only for the sensation to be replaced almost instantly by confusion. Oddly enough, the water itself was smooth far below—seemingly no ripples disturbed the surface as she thought they would have had a body pierced its surface.

The man had escaped.

Her gaze narrowed for a moment before she fell to her knees and sat back on her heels. Her mind was a mixture of many strange emotions, none of which felt pleasant. The focal point of her thoughts rested on her knife now, the silver blade stained a deep, haunting red.

"I knew he had been stripped of power," she whispered to herself in shock, eyes never leaving the wide expanse of water in front of her, "I knew he had been cast down. But… but…" She then fell silent in shock, eyes falling to the crimson blood on her knife and remaining there. "Oh, Perseus, what have you done?" she mumbled, almost inaudibly .

She remained there for several moments, almost numb. The crunch of snow behind her signaled her Lieutenant as she approached. The two were silent for several moments, and the only sound in the clearing was the light breeze that now blew the duo's hair ever so slightly and caused the soaring pines to creak. When it was clear the Lady was not going to speak, the younger girl did, the Ancient Greek words falling softly from her lips.

"My Lady Artemis, what ails you so? The man cannot flee forever."

Artemis slowly held up the dagger for her Lieutenant to behold. "I fear that to be true," she whispered. "A mortal truth, indeed."

The girl's eyes fell upon the bloody dagger and the red that bathed it. Onyx eyes widened in shock and alarm. "By the Gods," she murmured. "What has he done…?"

Artemis's silver eyes slowly raised to the moon, her own essence. "He has acted against Olympus," she all but choked out with bitterness, "and for that he must answer."

They remained there in that position for several more heartbeats until the wolves with them began to grow impatient. Artemis arose and, after sparing a final glance towards the now-turbulent ocean, the group plunged into the dark wood once more to continue their hunt.

ΩΩΩ

The man sat in a ramshackle cottage, grimacing as he tightened a cloth that was bound around his breast. Blood could be seen through the cloth, drying against the inside of the makeshift bandage.

Gingerly, he unwrapped the cloth that covered his shoulder. He shivered as the cold winter air touched the tender wound. Slowly, a pouch was removed from the belt at his waist. Inside were many large, coarse grains of sea salt, as if they had been scraped directly off salty deposits on the shore of the Aegean Sea.

With bated breath and a later gasp of raw pain, the man rubbed the sea salt into the wound, tears threatening to leak from his eyes. Soon, however, the pain subsided and the aggravated wound began to close up, if only a little. In this frigid, gods-forsaken environment, water would freeze and was not practical to carry around in bulk; sea salt, however painful it was, was weather-resistant and the closest connection the man had to the sea short of jumping in the frigid ocean. That he was wary to do, not knowing how far his luck would last concerning the favor of the Sea God.

He wrinkled his nose distastefully as he eyed the wound, the crimson blood oozing slowly from the puncture. His existence had been interesting, to say the least. It was still difficult becoming acquainted with his new, mostly-mortal form. The inability to heal almost instantly was quickly becoming more and more annoying, as was the lack of the majority of his previous powers… not to mention the newly-granted ability to die at the hands of beings he could previously defeat with a thought. Yes, death was an annoyance.

The man sighed. _Zeus was_ _quite upset,_ he mused internally.

Standing up to stretch those of his limbs that were _not_ injured (truly an inconvenience, how quickly these mortal bodies grew stiff and tired… even if he was now only _mostly_ mortal), the man let his memory wander back to the root of all his troubles: his bloodthirsty, vengeful, impressively-bitter grandfather.

He supposed that he, too, would be slightly bitter if he had been castrated and hacked apart into a multitude of pieces, only to be left to rot in the depths of Tartarus. Of course, a similar fate was becoming increasingly likely for him by the day, especially if Zeus had resorted to sending his favorite daughter upon him.

His gaze and mood darkened as she came to his mind. He had seen her that night, he had _actually_ seen her. After so long apart, they had come face-to-face. His eyes had stared into the silver depths of hers… and she had tried to kill him.

It was understandable, really. A part of him longed to kill her, too. After what she had done to him, that part of him longed for nothing more than to make her feel what he had felt that fateful day, the day he had been cast out. She had stood there, silent, her eyes reflecting the _betrayal_ she felt; at the same time his eyes reflected the same pain, the betrayal felt by him.

And yet… he couldn't bring himself to hurt her in any way. Despite what she had done, he simply could not harm her. He knew when she had entered the clearing behind him with her troop; he knew that she had drawn her bow with an arrow aimed at his undefended back. She had grown fiercely determined in her hunt, to the point of near-arrogance and carelessness. He could have sent an arrow through her skull or heart at that moment; he could have sent her essence away to heal in the blink of an eye. But at the last moment he had pulled his shot, instead severing a single strand of hair from the side of her head.

Families were messy; immortal families were eternally messy. Although "messy" did nothing to encapsulate his current situation.

The man eyed the ring upon his finger, and his lips curled in disgust. His mind was pervaded by the single thought of how _unfair_ it all was, of how incredibly _cruel_ the Fates had been to him. He knew what he was doing was just; he knew that he was doing what was right, yet he had lost everything as a result. And there was still much to lose.

The Fates… how evilly they must have cackled when they drew and measured his immortal string. How smugly they must be looking down upon him at that moment, having been recently given the ability to cut his string whenever they so choose. He longed to take his string in his own hands and wrap it around the shriveled necks of those three hags… though that would probably do little to lengthen his pitiful existence. It would be so easy for his life to end now, as simple as a wind snuffs out a candle.

That thought was enough to force him to action. He frigidly stood up, his face a blank mask. If he was going to fail, if he was going to die, if he was going to be caught and tortured for all eternity, then so be it. But if any of those happened, then by the _gods_ he was going to go out on his own terms and with a fight to rival the war between the Eldest gods and the Titans. If he had to, he would challenge Zeus once more. If it meant saving everything he held dear in this world… there was nothing he would not do.

He reached for the bundle as it rested on a makeshift table. As his hand opened to grab it, he stopped. Very gingerly, he grasped the flap of the bundle, as if to open it, before thinking better of it. Releasing the flap and leaving the contents of the bundle veiled, he grasped the pack and slung it on his shoulder.

With a _crack_ , the door was kicked open and the man stepped forth into the frigid northern air. Cold rock faces of looming fjords frowned down upon him from their inaccessible heights. Though the moon provided some light to the violent, upturned landscape nearby, the shadows deepened around him as he emerged in the night.

He exhaled, watching as the ice crystals in his visible breath caught the silver light. For a moment he stood there, still, as the a light breeze wafted over the snow drifts around him. He could almost imagine himself in some other world, for these strange lands had new gods, new realms. He had fled northward from Greece for many moons, evading Olympus and its servants… but the Huntress had pursued him even here, where her power waned.

He shook his head; there was no need for such thoughts now, not when he had so much yet to accomplish. A rueful smile touched upon his lips at the thought. Never before had he been constrained by such a timescale, for he had been mighty, the Seventh Olympian, eldest son of the Sea.

But he had been cast down. Now, the mortal entered the darkness of the forest.

He had work to do.

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 **There's Chapter 1, let me know what you think!**

 **~TheDragon12**


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter was _totally_ unplanned, but a few of you wanted a backstory so I decided to expand on the story. Enjoy!**

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" _Blast it, Poseidon! We cannot storm the fortress! Not while Atlas stands guard."_

" _Brother, the Titans grow stronger by the day whilst we grow weaker! Stronger we may grow to be in time, but their numbers far exceed ours and in experience they far outweigh us!"_

" _He is right, Zeus," spoke another voice. "We are mighty, mightier than they thought. We have pushed them back to Othrys against all odds—we must act_ now _, while they are yet unprepared."_

 _The youngest of the children of Kronos glowered, for he knew she was correct. "Hera, three times have we grappled with Atlas, and three times have we been repelled. If we cannot defeat him we will be forced to fall back to Olympus, and there we will be on the defensive."_

" _Defending one's home only gives greater reason to fight," supplied a soft, comforting voice._

" _True are those words, Hestia," sighed Zeus, "but I would rather not be forced to the brink of destruction. Our position now is safe: we are on the offensive, and we determine the battles. To foolishly rush into battle when we need not may bring about our defeat."_

" _I side with Zeus on this matter," spoke an oily voice. "Living in our father's gut all those ages was thoroughly unenjoyable: I would like to see him squirm helplessly while we can yet make him."_

" _If I may," interrupted a new voice. "Three times have_ you _fought Atlas, and three times have_ you _been repelled. But zero times have_ I _been repelled by Atlas, and Krios has already fallen to my blade. Let me fight their general; we push into Othrys after he falls."_

 _They all grew silent as they contemplated his proposal. They did not scoff at how preposterous it sounded; they did not laugh at the suggestion that he could, no, that he_ would _defeat the son of Iapetus, for they had seen the power in him when they laid eyes upon him the first time. They had seen the power in him when he slew the great Krios, Titan of the South, with ease._

" _Perseus," began Poseidon, "Though Kronos may be the most powerful, it is Atlas who is greatest in combat. Even his father Iapetus does not surpass his prowess."_

 _Perseus nodded. "And he will be overconfident. I will fight Atlas and whatever reinforcements they send to aid him—Othrys will be distracted. Uncle—" he said, nodding to Zeus, "Rain destruction upon them from the sky, for they will not be fully able to stop it. Father—" he said with a look at Poseidon, "Shake the very foundations of the earth; make their citadel shake beneath their feet. Briareus, Cottus, and Gyges shall darken the sky with the boulders they cast. "_

 _He looked around at the six children of Kronos then. All glowed with raw power at that moment, power unbridled as they prepared to topple their father once and for all. All were armed in masterfully-crafted armor, courtesy of the three elder cyclopes. In the hand of Zeus crackled a bolt of lightning, a sheath of raw energy. In the fist of Poseidon glowed a mighty trident, a weapon to which Perseus felt attuned as well. On the head of Hades sat his terrible Helm, that which ignited in enemies a great fear. Hera, Hestia, and Demeter were armed as well, for they were little less powerful than their brothers. In their hands were blades or spears, though their real power was not in weaponry._

 _Casting his gaze around once more, he continued. "Once Atlas falls, Hera, Hestia, Demeter, Hades, and I shall storm the citadel. The Titans will not be able to weather attacks from both sides—they shall be dispersed like chaff on the threshing floor."_

He drew a shaky gasp and clenched the tree branch even tighter as the vision departed suddenly from him. Ah, how good it was to be strong… but those days were gone. He gazed out over the valley that fell away beneath him. Tall pines rose into the snowy air, under the dark backdrop that was a range of massive mountains he would have to cross.

The man's eyes traced upwards to their snowy peaks, almost lost in the stormy clouds above. How simple it would have been in ages past to instantly bypass the mountains or fly over them.

With that thought, his mind flashed back to the the memory. Oh, how the mountains had shaken in that strife, how the _world_ had shaken. The very structure of the world was changed in that turmoil, and he had played no small part in that.

With a mutter, he shook his head and drew his dark cloak more tightly about him. Making sure the bundle was tight on his back, he began to make his descent into the shadowy valley.

ΩΩΩ

A low whistle pierced the air, followed almost instantly by a _thud_. The stag fell, its heart pierced by a dark arrow. As it collapsed, its breathing grew ever slower as the life began to leave its eyes. As the snow around it began to tinge red, boots walked up to the fallen form.

The man inspected his prey, noting the shallow rise and fall of the majestic creature's side. Putting a bare hand to the side of the stag's head, he looked it in the eye and whispered words in a strange tongue. As he spoke, the stag grew more relaxed, and peace found its eyes before they went dark and its body went still.

With a nod of gratitude to the lifeless form, the man drew a dark knife and began to clean the carcass. Soon making a fire and a small campsite, he began to roast enough meat to sate his hunger and provide him the strength and energy to continue his plight from pursuit.

Within an hour, as he reclined in the snow around the small fire and chewed upon the tender venison, he thought bitterly of the need to do this so often. His body, though far stronger than a normal mortal's, still was so pitifully weak compared to what he once was.

 _What I once was_ , he thought with a sigh. How had it come to this?

ΩΩΩ

 _In the beginning, there was darkness. He knew no sensation… only that he was_ strong _, strong beyond belief. He knew not_ how _he came to be, nor even_ where _he came to be; solely that he_ was.

 _When he became aware of himself and his surroundings, he was in the depths of the sea, for the sea nymph Thetis had just borne him—the son born from her immortal essence and the godly essence of Poseidon._

 _For, during the ten-year Titanomachy, the children of Kronos sought out allies to aid them in their struggle. Poseidon, having a strong affinity for the seas and all waters, oft traveled to the depths of the Aegean seeking aid; Oceanus may have proclaimed neutrality, and Pontus may have fallen into slumber many ages previously, but many other immortals dwelt in the unknown waters, and it was there Poseidon met Thetis._

 _He was born in the first year of the War, when the world seemed to fight itself and nature was in disarray. Though the children of Kronos did not possess domains of power at that moment, each was bestowed with differing abilities through the ichor that coursed through their veins. Power flowed through them; and, through Poseidon, unbridled power flowed through his son as well._

 _Unbeknownst at that time, for Themis, Titaness of Divine Order, would not proclaim it for many ages, the sons of Thetis would_ always _be more powerful than their fathers. So it was that the first of the second-generation gods was born, before power had even been coalesced into divine domains and realms—his power fell over many later domains accordingly. Shortly after springing from the gut of his father, Poseidon had fathered a son whose power new no restraints…_

 _He could feel the water around him; he could_ control _the water around him. In the depths of the Aegean, he felt as though his arm extended throughout all the waters of the world. With a thought he could change the currents that rolled through the black waters below; with a motion he could rear the waves to unimaginable heights; with a bellow he could call forth a tempest that would shake the seas in an uproar. He could reach into the air above the Aegean and bring forth storms; he could reach into the land beneath it and shift it upon its foundations._

 _And he grew quickly, as did all immortals. For two years he remained under the sea, exploring its depths and fighting those who sought conquest in the dark reaches of Pontus's old domain. In his ventures, he stumbled upon a strange metal, found only in rifts and trenches of the deep waters. With this strong blue metal he forged for himself a set of armor, using undersea magma vents heat the metal for his smithing._

 _But news reached the deep seas from the turmoil that raged above. He heard tales of the terror of Kronos's scythe, how easily it swept through those who opposed him. Hearing about the blade, the same style with which the primitive mortals harvested wheat, he constructed his own weapon. He used a similar blade but straightened it, sharpening it to a impossibly keen edge on both sides. He had created the first sword._

 _And he mastered it._

 _When he arrived in the midst of the Children of Kronos, he had been warmly welcomed. So desperate was their need for aid in the war that the handsome, young immortal in armor the color of the sea was a blessing. Even moreso, that he was fearsome on the battlefield, possessing a weapon none had seen before—for he had taken a blade like that of Kronos's scythe and changed it, creating with it a tool meant solely for killing._

 _Unlike the scythe that farmers used or the axe mortals harvested lumber with, the sword of the young immortal drew naught but the blood of Titans._

 _Poseidon had been surprised, to say the least, at the revelation of his unknown son but welcomed him warmly nonetheless. He was treated as one of them, as another enemy of Kronos seeking to topple him from his throne._

 _The Children of Kronos, who were inexperienced when they first fought back against the Titans, were more skilled when he joined them. Those two years of fighting had tempered them like steel, and they fought back with resolve by the time he joined them. Despite this, they could not match him in prowess of battle for his sword could not be stopped and his power as a son of Thetis turned the Titans away in fear when they first encountered him._

 _Years passed and the Titans grew ever more daring in their attempts to defeat him. Eventually they were forced to build defenses and a stronghold on Mount Olympus to repel the attacks, but conditions grew dire once more._

The howling of wolves shook him from his stupor and the haze cleared from his eyes instantly. In that moment, he was on his feet with his few belongings about him, for he knew those who accompanied the wolves would reach him shortly.

Not bothering to put out the fire or hide the traces of his camping, as he didn't have enough time to mask his trail finely enough to truly postpone their pursuit, he set off again, dashing through the dark forest with the package bound tightly across his back. As he settled into the familiar routine of running from absolute death, he could not help but wonder why that memory had resurfaced so quickly and so realistically—it was as if he was in a trance, not simply remembering the past.

The man ducked beneath a branch in his sprint. He was wary to delve too deeply into his memory, for that would only bring pain.

ΩΩΩ

 _All around him rose black marble spires: twisted, malevolent spikes that stabbed upwards from the ground to form the massive, strangely beautiful fortress. The dark sky swirled down towards the peak of the fortress in a frightening vortex, an ominous ashen thunderhead that displayed the forces that fought within nature itself._

 _Thunder rolled and crackled in the sky, reverberating through the marble structures below, where he had stood. Lightning flashed streaked towards the fortress, only to fizzle out or be met by blasts of energy. After many bloody years, they had finally pushed the Titans back to Othrys, the end of the war was nigh._

 _He had been the first to break through to the citadel. While the children of Kronos fought from a distance in an attempt to weaken the fortress, the power of the retreated Titans was simply too great. He had shaken the ground under Othrys; he had summoned lightning to smite the citadel, yet there was little more he could do._

 _He had left then, after Atlas fell to his blade, and stalked towards the looming gates. The earth was deformed to meet his arrival; the winds buffeted him and the storm overhead struck him time after time. Yet none of these affected him and he destroyed the gates, unperturbed._

 _Those that met him in the courtyard were no match; the lesser immortals or whatever unfortunate mortals the Titans had snatched and given shoddy weapons fell before his blade with ease. It was his fearsome blade, made from a metal as blue as the sea he sprung form, that had slain those who stood before him, for he had devised and mastered the first sword and suffered no equals on the battlefield._

 _He did not tire, for to weaken meant death. For days they fought on Othrys, within the black marble walls of the Titan's stronghold. Even as they smote the structure with lightning and earthquakes and countless boulders from above, the most powerful of the Titans fought back in the struggle that made the world shake in terror. Slowly Perseus pushed through until at last he came to the throne room. Zeus, Poseidon, Hades fought with him in a fervor, having joined the fray days earlier. The daughters of Kronos were fighting elsewhere as his sons and sole grandson fought through to him in great bursts of power from both sides._

 _Lightning smote the mountain around himself and the others, shaking the walls as they fought the eldest Titans and sending chunks of rock hurtling through the air. Zeus fought with passion unmatched, besting those who fought against him in the long struggles. The floor shook beneath them as well, as Poseidon swung his trident._

 _All was chaos in that time, for the most powerful beings were locked in a trial of life and death. And, though the children of Kronos and Perseus had the upper hand for much time, the Titans at last began to push them back and regain the advantage once more._

 _It was then that Zeus played his greatest weapon: while he yet battled in its shadow, the youngest of Kronos's children hurled his master bolt at the peak of Mount Othrys, sheering the mountaintop from its rest. It crashed down, breaking up as it hurtled towards the fighters below. Shards of rock shot between them as rocky blocks larger than houses crashed in their midst. It was then, as the palace itself collapsed around the fighters, that Perseus reached and challenged Kronos himself._

 _As the stronghold crumbled around them, he grappled with Kronos. Sparks flew and the earth shook every time the adamantine scythe collided with the blue blade, and neither could gain the advantage. For, though Perseus was the more skilled warrior, Kronos was the most cunning, powerful of the Titans and this compensated for his lack of skill as a warrior._

 _At last, he had summoned the entirety of his vast power. For the first time in his ten-year existence, he called forth the power from deep within him and shouted as it ran icily hot alongside the ichor in his veins._ _In that instant, Mount Othrys tore itself apart: the stone at their feet stabbed upwards as chasms opened around them; lightning pounded the ground faster than the eye could catch as much of the stone was pulverized to dust._

 _He became in that moment like a dying star: a light so bright and so full of raw energy that Kronos could not look at his figure. E_ _ven as Zeus cast down Hyperion and Poseidon impaled Koios and Hades defeated Iapetus in the wreckage and impending death, Perseus parried a strike from the deadly scythe of Kronos and, in a single sweep, severed Kronos's head from his shoulders._

 _As soon as he felt his blade sink into the flesh of Kronos, he cast his hand back at his father and uncles, sending them far away at the same time that what power he had been_ trying _to restrain escaped him. There was a massive flash of blinding light, searing heat, before the whole palace and much of the mountain itself vanished in a shockwave that flattened the land around him. I_ _t was as if a stone hurled from the heavens had collided with the mountain and sent everything flying away from it in a massive fiery blast._

 _And then there was darkness._

He gasped. His breath was visible, rising slowly from his mouth with every exhale. Scrambling from his prone position, he nearly fell off the branch he had apparently been sleeping on. As it was, his arms wrapped around the thick branch and hauled his body up, so that his feet no longer dangled eighty feet above the ground.

Perseus frowned, for he had no recollection of ascending to this position. Above him were the stars, though the sky had turned their positions, signalling several hours had passed since he last saw them.

He attempted to recollect what had last passed through his mind, but could barely manage a curse before his eyes rolled back into his head once more.

ΩΩΩ

 _He strode across the waves off the coast of Cyprus. It was rare he ventured this far from the Aegean Sea, but often he felt the urge to wander strange lands. Though his power had waned while in lands of such great distances from his seat of power, he had seen sights no other god had. He had grappled with strange gods to the south in Egypt and Punt and Ethiopia; he had ventured still further south until at last he came to another vast sea. There he found a strange black and white bird that he deemed amusing. So amusing, in fact, that he brought several back with him to Greece, where they became one of his sacred animals_

 _This, in turn, explained why there was a collection of penguins waddling around Greece, most notably at Temples of Perseus and places sacred to him._

 _He had also explored and grappled with the strange gods of the north in Scandia and Éire, to the far east: Babylon, Assyria, India… many gods had he striven against, in those days before the Fates forbid such divine interference, and he had bested them all. At last, he had come to a wall of mountains so lofty that he was stopped, and he returned to the Mediterranean._

 _Now, he amused himself by hurling waves at the rocky cliffs, carving caves and sea arches and other rocky formations he deemed pleasing to the eye. Under his feet swam hippocampi, occasionally breaching the surface and complimenting the god on his skill._

 _He grinned at the obvious, unnecessary favor-seeking when movement above one of the cliffs caught his eye._

 _Letting the waves drop and the sea fade to serenity, he traversed the surface of the water to the pebble beach, enjoying the crunch of stone under his feet. He passed through the meadows that sprung up near the beach, passing his hand along the tops of the tall grasses as he moved higher up the landscape._

 _He reached the crest of the mount, and the sight that met his eye created in his chest a strange, warm feeling, one he had not experienced in his years of existence. He saw the three_ Horai _, the goddesses of the season that he had met briefly before in his wanderings or on Olympus. But it was the one in their midst that caught his gaze._

 _She danced in the tall grass, clad in a billowing white dress, with a delicate golden crown upon her head and a golden necklace falling from her neck. When she noticed his approach, she halted her dancing and gazed into his eyes. His sea green eyes met her own, large and blue as the ocean, and a strange feeling overcame him._

 _She was startlingly beautiful, that much was obvious to him. For though Hestia and Demeter and Hera all possessed a stunning beauty, all three were surpassed easily by the one that stood before him._

 _A warm smile broke out on her face as she beheld him, the tall god with windswept raven hair. For, though all gods could appear as they wish, the young son of Poseidon appeared almost otherworldly while he remained near the sea. He drew near to her then, for the strange feeling within him grew, urging him onwards towards her. Her smile only widened as he drew closer until he was at last near enough for her to grasp his hand._

 _Neither spoke as they gazed in each other's eyes, for Perseus himself could do nothing more than gaze dumbly at the goddess and she was enjoying the sight entirely too much. She uttered nothing but loosed a delighted laugh, a rich sound clear as pealing bells, she took both his hands and began to spin around, dancing once more in the meadow with him._

 _The sunset found him standing in the grass and running a hand through her hair, for she had all but bewitched him in the most pleasant of ways by that time. As the last of the golden light faded from the seascape, she stood on the tips of her toes to press a kiss to his lips..._

ΩΩΩ

 _He felt the sand shift under his feet on the beaches of Naxos when word reached him of the plight of Leto. Zeus's many affairs were commonplace at this point; it seemed that a new child to the King of the gods sprung up every other moon cycle at this point. With that thought, he gazed at the horizon where the Titaness Selene and her moon chariot appeared vaguely, still being smothered by the light of Helios's sun setting opposite her._

 _A tremor pulsed through the ground and he stopped. When the ground shook, it was always by his father's will or his own, and this was most certainly neither. It was no great shaking of the earth—there would be no damage to anyone. Rather, it was a wave of power that rolled through the land, and in it he could detect a trace of Hera's power._

 _It was not difficult to deduce parts of what had happened: obviously his aunt had found out about Zeus's latest act of infidelity and commanded nature to act against Zeus's lover… But he just did not know_ what _Hera had willed._

 _That is, until he strode through a grove of trees and found a delicate nymph singing softly by the side of a pool of water. She started when she noticed his entry, jumping upwards and trying to muster a shocked bow or curtsy. He laughed at he surprise, though not at all rudely. "My apologies for startling you, maiden."_

 _Her cheeks colored ever so slightly and a delicate smile graced her lips as she curtsied formally. "It is of no concern, Lord."_

 _An idea struck him. "Do you know anything of the tremor that passed beneath our feet as of late? You are more attuned to nature than am I," he asked._

 _She swallowed and nodded. "Indeed, Lord; it is the will of the Queen of the Heavens, acting in anger against the Titaness Leto."_

 _"Ah, as I thought. But_ what _has she commanded?"_

 _At this the nymph warily glanced upwards before shakily answering. "She has ordered all lands to forbid Leto entry while she seeks to bear her child: all stable ground, all lands tethered to the body of Gaea must turn away the Titaness."_

 _The skies darkened and rain began to fall as his mood soured. His aunt had been wronged many times by Zeus and his infidelity, but to force Leto to remain with child far longer than nature intended was cruel. With a nod to the nymph he stiffly turned and walked away, the ground shaking at every footstep of the angry god. He would not allow this to continue, for there was little Hera could do in action against him._

 _Time passed and he acted._

 _He stood at the crest of a rocky hill, the highest point of this island he raised from the sea. The land fought against him, seeking to reunite with the ocean floor below, yet he did not allow it. For days he had stood in that spot, straining as he fought a battle of wills against the mighty earth. For days he had not moved as he kept his power in the ocean, circulating the great currents underneath the island and keeping it aloft._

 _His strength was slowly waning and a sheen of sweat covered his godly face, when a golden light appeared on the shore._

 _Abandoning a part of his being, which remained in control of the currents that kept the new isle afloat, Perseus flashed into existence in front of the golden light. He watched as the quail who fluttered weakly in the air transformed, changing now into a beautiful woman. Her golden hair fell in long waves down her back and her face was majestic, though now in visible pain._

 _She anxiously glanced up at him, fear etched in her eyes, for she had been turned away by every place she had fled towards, every person to whom she shad pleaded for aid. For none in existence wanted to act against and disobey the queen of the heavens, as retribution by Hera was always swift and harsh. None dared to ignore the orders of the wife of Zeus._

 _Except for himself, that is._

 _If Hera grew so upset so as to fight him, she would be alone and defeated. For on this land he had raised from the sea, he would allow Leto to bear her child as was right, and he would allow no one to interfere in this._

 _He smiled down kindly at Leto, bobbing his head slightly in a nod of silent affirmation. Then he stepped aside smoothly, gesturing with wide arms that she had found refuge._

Perseus shook his head. Hera really had been upset at his defection but, then again, she had never made _him_ promise to turn Leto away… She had simply made every land rooted to the earth turn Leto away and, as Delos was not attached to the land but floating in the Aegean, the land could accept Leto without disobeying Hera.

He grimaced. Pointing out that little factual loophole had done little to appease the Queen of the Heavens, and her temper had increased substantially. It had been a few rather unpleasant centuries on Olympus following that incident.

ΩΩΩ

 _He watched the girl dash through the forest, makeshift bow in hand. The daughter of Leto grew quickly, as did all gods, yet she would still be considered young by mortal standards. At that moment she appeared as a girl of twelve, though she had been alive little more than a year, and the radiant glow of an immortal's youth was present about her, a youthful radiance that faded as gods matured and grew in power._

 _He remembered when he had first seen her, running around Delos with her powerful brother. Gods they may have been, but they possessed that energy of life, that curiosity that was seen among every mortal child. When they wrestled or attempted to prove their own superiority in different areas, or when they squabbled over the most minute of slights or objects, it was as if he was beholding a family in the outskirts of Athens or Argos._

 _Leto, Titaness though she was, was greatly weakened since the ascent of the Olympians to power, and even moreso through the labor and childbirth of her twins. Perseus pitied her, attempting to raise and train her powerful young children (whom he had no doubt would soon rise to his level, seated on thrones at Mount Olympus as had their half-siblings Ares, Hephaestus, and Athena in years past) while still defend them from monsters and jealous immortals that would harm them._

 _He had accordingly returned to Delos more than he planned, assuring himself that the godlings were unharmed and learning what their powers were, not to mention how to temper them and use them. Both were very similar in many respects, yet also completely different in others._

 _Now, however, a shadow appeared from the trees before the young goddess and she staggered to a shocked halt. Out of the darkness stepped a giant who bore a menacing, lustful look about him. The giant looked down upon the godling and grinned evilly, and the young daughter of Leto could do little more than turn around and attempt to flee._

 _He knew the giant: Tityus, a fiend in every way who was born through pain and sorrow and would undoubtedly live with the purpose of bringing pain and sorrow to others. And, as his sword appeared in his hand, he realized that it would not be surprising if Hera had been the one to send Tityus here, whether for little Artemis or Leto._

 _There was a surge of protectiveness that emanated through him as he stepped past the godling and slashed the giant even as he reached for her. Perseus stood firm as Tityus fell backwards with a surprised cry. But even as he regained his footing, he cast himself back at Perseus with renewed ferocity and hatred._

 _Perseus felt no remorse as he cast the bloody body of Tityus into the abyss._

ΩΩΩ

 _He strode about the agora, admiring the progress the mortals were making. Though mortals were molded by Prometheus long before Perseus had come to exist, they were little more than primitive, frightened animals under the reign of Kronos. Now, however, they had the undeniable spark of life that the gods did, and he was always so delighted to walk in their midst and marvel in their vigor for life._

 _He took his usual guise: a strong, tall male who had seen perhaps twenty summers, though he had forsaken his breastplate and sword for a fine white chiton lined in sea-blue trim. Now he ambled through Athens, astonished at how much larger it had grown, for it seemed that it was but a small village yesterday, and now it bore walls and a large population._

 _From buyer to buyer he went, admiring the different tapestries and tools and scrolls and information. None were near as fine as the artwork and masterful creations on Olympus, but the mortals grew more skilled each year, to his delight. He gazed at one tapestry, depicting not the current Olympians, but the first. Zeus was pictured with a flowing white beard and white hair as he hurled his lightning, Hera at his side with her arm draped over his shoulder. Demeter, Poseidon, Hades, Hestia: all were there…_

 _And he had to smother a booming laugh once more, for they were all terribly, hilariously inaccurate. His father did not, as a matter of fact, wear a crown of seaweed and coral, nor did he usually have silver hair. Hestia usually decided_ against _becoming a pillar of fire._

 _But the seventh figure was perfectly accurate: a youthful male with black hair and rich green eyes that leaned against a pillar behind the six children of Kronos. The figure's face bore an almost-amused expression as he beheld the different competitions happening between the siblings._

 _A smile graced his face and he motioned to the seller. "This is astounding quality."_

 _The artist spread his hands wide. "Ah, I did what I could; Athena looked down upon me favorably as I wove this."_

" _And how interesting a topic—why did you choose the first Olympians?"_

 _A dry chuckle. "So many now are excited by the new gods, whether it be Athena or the archer twins or even young Hermes," he began, being sure to warily glance up at the sky with a slight bow after he had recited their names, "as they should be," he hurriedly recovered. "But it should not be forgotten that the prosperity we know is because the Children of Kronos defeated their father."_

 _Perseus nodded approvingly. "And the seventh? Why did you include Perseus when he is not a child of Kronos?"_

 _He looked around before leaning in over the table to speak. "You must not be from around here, friend, for it is the god Perseus we revere the most. Though not a child of Kronos, he is equal in power to them and more generous in his blessings. None may stand before his mighty blade, nor may any harm those he holds in his protection. Though Zeus is King of the gods and Athena our patron, it is_ Perseus _who holds our hearts, for he is ever kind to us."_

 _Looking once more at the tapestry, he allowed his features to change to match the tapestry exactly, though there was little to change. A grin broke out on his face as he said, "I'm sure he would be quite pleased with the depiction." With that, he flipped an Olympian, gold drachma to the man who now stared with wide eyes and open mouth as he looked rapidly between the tapestry and the mirror image of the god who now walked away from him._

 _He continued walking through the agora, chuckling at the haggling going on and the fantastic stories and legends being passed by mouth from person to person: whether it be about a monster one had oh-so-nobly defeated on the weary road to Athens or the fair nymph one had bedded, every trader had story to tell, and they grew more far-fetched as the day progressed._

 _Soon he found himself in front of a single temple. Though not as massive as the temples to Zeus or Athena, it was constructed with the utmost detail. Most of it was of the same white marble as the other temple, but the floor was a rich, ocean-blue marble that had been quarried from distant lands. He smiled as he paced down through the small temple: he could see the respect the locals had for this place, and he received many sacrifices from the braziers here. Many a prayer had he answered from those who came to him for aid at his temple._

 _A single creature waddled up to his feet, lovingly nudging his calves. He reached down and patted the penguin on the head, noting with satisfaction that more of his sacred animals were wandering around different parts of his temple. Some were amusing themselves in the stream that ran directly through the structure (he had thought that a nice touch). He paused and looked ahead, at the single figure that stood admiring a statue in his likeness that sat on a raised dais at the front of the temple, carved from a similar blue marble._

 _"Very few come solely to admire the statue," he said, his voice echoing ever so slightly throughout the temple._

 _The figure did not move at the sound, instead keeping its gaze fixed on the statue. He could not see past the grey cloak that draped over its head and back, but the smaller size led him to believe it was a young woman. He did not approach but rather stayed fixated in his spot when he spoke again._

 _"What brings you to his temple, maiden?"_

 _"Perhaps I was curious," she murmured, and he would not have heard were he not a god. Then she spoke aloud, intending to be heard this time. "I owe him my gratitude for a deed in years past, but he is elusive to find."_

 _This remark thumbed his curiosity. "Rare is it for one to simply stumble upon the gods."_

 _She took a seat on the floor, cross-legged in front of the statue. No mortal had ever been so bold to commit an act that most gods would consider so disrespectful, though his own sense of humor was legendary and he snorted at the gesture. "You would be surprised," she answered. "But even among the gods, it is rare he is where he should be."_

 _By then he began to suspect who the girl was, and he strode softly towards her. "The stories say he prefers his peaceful beaches and tides, away from the rabble of Olympus and the orders of Zeus."_

 _"Ah yes, but the stories also proclaim his charm and handsomeness, so how much trust can we truly put in them?"_

 _He opened his mouth to retort when a soft sound flew through the air: a quiet laughter so rich and so pure that he thought at first he was listening to a forest stream gurgling over rock and fall. Immediately his ire fell away and he found himself laughing as well. The girl turned around and stood, casting the gray hood from her face; the first detail he noticed were the stunning silver eyes that shone gleefully over a bright smile and beneath braided auburn hair._

 _Immediately his chest strangely grew warm once more, just as it had when he had first laid eyes on Aphrodite on Cyprus, though this feeling was far stronger. He noted with annoyance that his heart seemed to beat more strongly and rapidly in his chest and his face felt warm. Casting those odd feelings aside, he returned the smile and strode up to her, placing a finger gently beneath her chin and raising her head until there eyes met._

 _She truly was beautiful, he noted, appearing several years younger than he did and glowing with a youthful power. He winked down at her, "To respond to your excuse, you're welcome."_

Now he stood upon a boulder on the opposite side of the deep valley he had crossed through the night. On the opposite ridge, where he had stood but hours earlier, he could see a movement of silver as the huntresses and their leader emerged from the forest. Even from the great distance, he could see clearly the gaze of Artemis as she spied him. For a moment, he stared into her eyes once more.

They were still the same silver eyes he had gazed into for the first time in his temple in Athens all those centuries ago, yet now there was a hardness to them. He saw the way her eyebrows angled as they stared each other down and sighed before turning away and resuming his escape.

How cruel the Fates were.

* * *

 **There you go, some backstory for you guys and some explanation of what's happened between Artemis and the man (who you know now is Perseus). Enjoy!**

 **~TheDragon12**


	3. Chapter 3

**Alright, back to the present in Chapter 3! Please leave a review and enjoy!**

* * *

 _The goddess and the mortal met for a second time under the faint glow of the weakened moon, its ghostly rays doing little to dispel the shadow of fate that greedily clung to them._

The moon shone dully in the dark sky now. Where before it had blazed with a silver brilliance, it now emitted a weak, yellow-grey glow. Though no clouds covered the partial moon, its light was smothered as if it was a stormy night. So had it been diminished for several weeks, since the encounter between the Moon and the Man.

Below the dull moon, a rocky embankment stabbed upwards from the earth around it, the first peak of the mountain range that rose to invisible heights behind it. The same pine forest that covered the land for miles and miles around was halted as it neared the stone face, instead giving space to open air before taking root once more upon the crest of the rock.

A gloved hand came to rest against the pale stone. It slowly brushed over the flat surface of the cliff, scraping away lichen and snow—whatever debris had settled amid the grooves of the rock. The night was almost as silent as the previous fateful night, for the soft crunches that followed the hand's actions were the only sounds to be heard.

Perseus exhaled in frustration as he cleared away the detritus from the rock, his movements growing more frantic with every passing second. Around him, the darkness seemed to close in, threatening to swallow him up. His gaze darted back over his shoulders repeatedly, making sure no one had yet burst out from the forest to interrupt his search.

With a curse, he turned his attention back to the rock face, searching with no luck and growing all the more agitated. He knew he possessed precious little time to disappear, ere he be forced to fight his way to safety. But that for which he was searching remained hidden… if it was even present at all.

The night wore on and more of the rock was searched, yet his hunt remained fruitless. With an echoing curse, the man sent his fist into the rock out of frustration. He hurled his shoulder into the rock, attempting to break down the wall in his anger and frustration. The silence of the night was broken by the crumbling of rock and shouts, yet the effort was for naught in the end.

With a final curse, he turned away from the new indents in the rock, ignoring his throbbing fist and side, and walked several strides towards the dark forest.

He ran a hand through his unhooded hair as one stressful conclusion crashed down upon his shoulders. "I'm too late," he murmured, "The entrance has moved."

Perseus shook his head at the dangerous thought. "Daedalus... " he muttered, his eyes narrowing.

If the door had indeed moved, that certainly did not bode well for him. His window for action was shrinking every day; soon he would be too late and the world would be thrust into war once again, and he would most likely find himself thrown into Tartarus or dangled over the void.

Unfortunately, the family of the man had no shortage of creativity when it came to punishments. His mind drifted from Kronos to Atlas to Prometheus to Tantalus, and he subconsciously gulped and rubbed a hand across his throat.

Changing his grimace to a determined frown, he sighed and turned back towards the looming forest. If this entrance had moved, that left him with the options of staying here until the unsure moment of its return or instead seeking out other possible entrances. The man hated inaction more than anything, except for possibly his grandfather, so he drew his great bow from his back and headed into the trees.

Just as several weeks previously, the howl of wolves reverberated through the air and between the trees before he could enter. In an instant, he dropped to his knees with an arrow nocked and drawn, searching for any possible threat while the ice left his veins.

There was no wolf present, nor any other threat seemingly, yet he remained on alert. Soon, he could just barely perceive the muffled _thumps_ of paws sprinting through the forest, towards him. Gritting his teeth, he backed up to the cliff. This left him no escape but also removed the possibility of being flanked by those who pursued him.

The silver wolves and young girls he was expecting were not the ones who burst through the trees. Instead, the pungent odor of fetid, rotten meat wafted through the air and preceded the arrival of a pack of the mangiest wolves he had ever seen.

That is, if wolves they could even be called. Many bore human-like features, hideously twisted and an abomination with the bodies of wolves that they possessed. Their fur was patchy and knotted with blood and bits of meat; bloody saliva dripped from their snarling muzzles.

One by one they approached and formed an arc around him, some snarling and growling, others making strangely human-like grunts of rage.

Very slowly he released the tension from his bow, storing the arrow back in his quiver. He instead pulled out a different arrow, this one with a much rougher fletching and a silver arrowhead. He felt his quiver for more of the same rough fletchings—there were seven others. He had eight silver arrows to fend off a pack of nearly thirty followers of Lycaon.

The beasts seemed to know this as well, that he did not have the weapons to kill them all… yet they also knew that the weapons he _did_ have would be put to very good use, for this was an enemy they could not hope to conquer by strength or numbers alone. So it was that they paced uneasily around him, waiting for their leader.

And he came. On an unspoken note, the werewolves split and an emaciated figure strode through. His hair was greasy and ragged, the color matching the man's robes. But the figure's robes were of tattered fur—squirrel, rabbit, stag—all of them uncured and woven through with bits of bone and rotten meat. Upon his head was a golden crown that had lost its luster. The metal was badly tarnished and dented; some of the jewels had been replaced by bits of bone or the skulls of miniscule animals. The crown itself had deteriorated greatly, as had its owner and his sanity.

Lycaon stood alone now before the man, and the pale skin was drawn tight over his face as he smiled, looking as a jackal. His grin seemed to be filled with pain, as if he enjoyed his suffering and the torture of others. Lycaon's dark eyes showed nothing but utter contempt for the one before him and glee at the prospect of his blood.

"My my, what have we here?" the creature goaded with a hoarse voice. "A fallen god, doomed to wander the land as a mortal. Cast out from Olympus for treason and hunted by the Gods."

A pang struck the man's heart at the sharp words. "My my, what have we here?" he repeated with the same goading tone, though his eyes betrayed the anger simmering beneath the surface. "A king amongst men, doomed to an immortal life as a monster; a feral beast so despicable that mothers tell their children tales of its sins as a way to ensure respect for the gods."

"It is because of you that I am like this!" he snarled, his features becoming more wolf-like for a second before returning to normal. "Zeus wanted my death… But _you_ —it was _you_ who convinced him to let me live forever in this form!"

"You tried to kill me!"

Lycaon seemed to wave the indignant comment aside. "I wanted to be sure it was truly the immortal Zeus in my hospitality; and _still_ I was spurned by him, who sent you in his stead!"

The gaze of the man darkened and his voice grew venomous as he rebuked Lycaon. "You fed me the flesh of your own son, the fruit of your loins… I merely suggested to my uncle that he give you the appearance of the wild beast, the _monster_ , you truly are."

The gaze of Lycaon darkened to match that of the man and a glint came to his eyes. "Oh yes, son of Poseidon. I shall enjoy watching my pack tear you limb from limb. I shall enjoy feasting upon your flesh and blood, for power still courses through your mortal veins. It is not everyday I get the chance to feast upon a fallen god."

A dark eyebrow was raised. "Is that why you have come here, to the forsaken North? I had thought you and your filth yet prowled in the Arcadian wild, in the forests of your former kingdom."

He cackled cruelly. "Oh yes, long have I hunted in the glens of Arcadia. I take much pleasure in ripping limb from limb those who should serve me, worship me." Then his eyebrows angled further and his mouth was drawn to an unnerving smirk. "But I heard whispers, mutterings of turmoil on Olympus, of a clash between Zeus and another elder Olympian, the Warrior himself."

He began to stride, drawing ever nearer to the youthful man as his voice grew more and more taunting. "But then what?" he asked innocently with venom on his tongue. "Oh, it was _treachery_ by he whom everyone respected. It was then that the Lord of the Skies cast the upstart down, smiting him upon the earth below."

"Be careful of your next words, _filth_ ," the mortal forced out through gritted teeth, "lest I remove the unpleasant burden of your head from your pathetic shoulders sooner than I had intended."

If the threat fazed the werewolf, he did not show it. Instead continuing his goading pace, he spoke again. "The greatest of the Olympians, cast down upon the dung heap below and garbed in sackcloth. Condemned to lowliness—a pathetic mortal."

The man had no response, instead fixing the beast in a glare that would have wrought destruction in days past.

Lycaon laughed at the expression with a vicious sneer. " _Oh_ , but that was not the end. No, the mortal went on to confirm all their suspicions—stealing the Bolt from right under Zeus's nose? Ha! Proven to be the traitor, the _disgrace_ he really is."

The man still fought to contain himself. "I see the lies spread by my uncle have reached the four corners of the world," he spit. "Libellous, venomous words."

He was ignored as Lycaon continued to taunt. "I understand the jealousy, the anger over Zeus's rule," he mentioned passively, almost absentmindedly, "but to ally yourself with Kronos?" His dark eyes glinted. "That truly is daring."

Sea green eyes blazed with anger and he snarled, a silver arrow drawn on his dark bow in the blink of an eye. The sharpened silver point was fixated between the werewolf's eyes, following his every movements. The bow was steady, though the arm shook with the ire that coursed through his body, thinking back to the damning words of his grandfather.

 _He staggered to his feet, his consciousness rushing back to his physical body in an instant like the torrent of an icy mountain stream. For several moments he could not concentrate, until the ringing in his ears faded and the haze cleared from his vision. When he was able, he almost dazedly gazed at the wreckage strewn about him._

 _He stood in a deep crater, amid charred rock and a powerful, mystical magick. Above loomed Mount Othrys, now several thousand feet shorter and entirely broken—entire chunks were missing, having collapsed onto the fortress during the battle and he knew it would be many years before the land recovered from the trauma of the ten-year war, especially its cataclysmic conclusion._

 _Most of which had been a result of him, that is._

 _There was a dull ache in his head, as if there was a force constantly pushing into his skull. As he lurched up the side of the crater, the pressure only increased and a piercing ring added to the pain. When he emerged over the lip of the crater, he saw that the grand palaces of Mount Othrys were utterly decimated: most of the stone was now shattered and lying in low piles spread out from the blast, though skeletons of former buildings remained in some places._

 _His gaze wandered in awe at the destruction he had wrought, until it landed on a broken figure and narrowed. The body of Kronos had seemingly been blasted backwards so that it appeared to be sitting against a wall… devoid of the head he had severed, which conveniently rested nearby._

 _As he approached the body, the pain in his head only increased until it felt like it would explode from the pressure. He grit his teeth and pushed forward to the body though his own godly instincts were screaming for him to stop. For several moments he stood over the body of the fallen Titan King, looking down upon the being who had driven the world to darkness._

 _He nudged the body with his foot, and as soon as his foot made physical contact there was an assault on his consciousness. Pain stabbed through his head and he dropped to his knees, clutching the sides of his head._

 _In his voice hissed the piercing voice of Kronos, of the grandfather who now laid headless before him. "_ You will regret your interference, Perseus. In time you will wish you had remained under the sea. _"_

 _Each word came with a white-hot pain that stabbed into his head, as if Kronos was gleefully twisting a wicked dagger in his brain._

 _Then a dark chuckle. "_ You think you have won, but I will bring you down with me. For I have all the time in the world, and in _time_ I shall bring you down."

 _He could stand it no longer. Desperate to alleviate the agony in his head, he shouted as he brought his sword stabbing down through the chest of the former Titan King._

 _The pain vanished instantly, and the voice disappeared. He remained there, kneeling and breathing heavily as he tried to regain his composure. At last, the remaining ache faded and his senses cleared once more. As he stood and withdrew his blade from Kronos's torso, he felt Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon approach beside him._

 _All three were weary from battle, and golden ichor dripped from numerous cuts and wounds on the sons of Kronos, yet they bore a new confidence from the victory. They were ready to claim control of the world._

 _Perseus turned to regard them, not saying a word, for no words needed to be said._

 _In Zeus's hands was the scythe of his father, and with the weapon he wordlessly sliced off the limbs of Kronos, castrating him at the end in anger at all the Titan had done._

 _When he finished, Perseus stabbed his sword into the ground once more; Hades followed suit, stabbing his own weapon into the ichor-stained stone. Perseus shifted the ground, willing it to part beneath them in a massive rift while Hades steered the chasm towards Tartarus._

 _When he kicked the body of Kronos into the chasm, all that echoed in his minds were the words, the promised revenge of his grandfather._

And Kronos's revenge had come to pass. "My grandfather I would see destroyed were it my last action."

"So you say," Lycaon tutted, "A pity no one believes you."

"Then I shall go it alone."

Lycaon ignored him and ambled nearer until the silver arrowhead was six inches from his eyes. With a single finger, he slowly pushed the arrow and bow to the side as he glared slyly into the eyes of the other. His lips twitched upwards, morphing from a smirk to a truly evil, sadistic grin. A set of sharpened canines glowed in the faint light.

"Tut-tut, _Perseus;_ do not be rude. Though I must know… Did the _Destroyer_ really care so little, _love_ so little, that he did not even pause to think of what his _wife—_ "

With a wild cry, there was an explosion of force and the werewolf was sent flying backwards, as was his pack. The ground began to shake, sending everyone but Perseus tumbling to the ground. Behind him, the fragments of the cliff slid down the stone face, and other boulders came loose and thundered down to the snow.

Though mostly mortal, the eyes of Perseus glowed as he strode forward towards the recovering werewolves. Those that tried to leap at him and claw him were pierced by a silver arrow and sent to Tartarus or grabbed by the throat and hurled backwards.

The man approached the splayed form of Lycaon. Without words, he loosed a silver arrow into the creature's shoulder, then a second into his abdomen. Reaching down, he grasped Lycaon around the throat and lifted him until his feet dangled helplessly two feet above the ground.

All was silent for a moment as Perseus glared into the dark eyes of the beast, his own eyes darkening from sea green to a stormy hue not much lighter than black. His face was drawn into a tight, near-feral snarl at the words the werewolf had delivered.

Said werewolf, however, did not seem to care about the seriousness of the situation as the iron grip tightened around his throat. His eyes still glinted with a maniacal pleasure and he began to laugh—a twisted, wheezing sound due to the fact that his throat was all but closed at the moment by a resolute fist.

The laughter served to unnerve Perseus and he squeezed tighter with a fiercer expression. "Is the end of your pitiful life really so humorous?"

The wheezing cackle continued. "Long have you hunted my kin and I, you and your—" his smirk deepened. "Well, I do not know _what_ you would refer to her as anymore. But long has my pack known the silver bite of your roughly-fletched arrows...and in your rage and distraction, you have spent your last one."

Too late did those words sink in for the fallen immortal. His eyes widened and his hand shot back to his quiver. He cursed as he realized that Lycaon spoke the truth: with his frenzied attack, Perseus had used the last of his silver arrows. Before he could react to the realization, rabid howls tore from the mouths of the werewolves around him as they pounced upon the hapless man.

He struggled against the hoard of beasts, punching and kicking those that he could. Some he grasped and threw away, others he was forced to dodge, but their numbers were simply too great for him to overcome without any true weapons.

Soon he had fallen, pinned down by the claws and fangs of the cruel monsters. Lycaon himself, having plucked the arrows from his body, strode up to his figure and glowered over him with a satisfied sneer. The expression deepened as he unsheathed a jagged knife from his belt, the blade scraping as it was drawn with an ominous _shink_. "How fitting… the fallen god slain by the one he made undying." He grinned evilly, revealing sharp fangs. "I plan on enjoying this _immensely._ "

The highly acute senses of Perseus picked up more muffled footfalls nearing him. This time, it was he whose expression changed from enraged to taunting. "There is one thing you forget, beast."

Lycaon raised a greasy eyebrow. "Oh? And enlighten me, mortal, as to what could have possibly fallen from my memory."

"After everything I've done?" he laughed dryly. "I have many, _many_ , enemies… most of whom would prefer to kill me themselves."

There was a moment of silence after his words sounded before several low whistles pierced the air. In an instant, silver arrows pierced the night sky and found their marks in the bodies of the werewolves, in accordance with his statement. From the trees emerged several figures in heavy cloaks, armed with silver bows. Out of their midst strode forth the eldest, still clad in a silver tunic to match her eyes.

After arrows cut down several of the werewolves and it was clear that defeat was imminent, Lycaon fixed on Perseus the darkest, most abhorrent glare before morphing into a twisted wolf and escaping into the forest as silver arrows fell in their midst.

With a sigh, Perseus leapt to his feet and proceeded to brush the snow from his tunic and trousers. Standing upright, he was greeted with an arrow that he batted from the air before it could impale itself in his chest.

Opposite him, Artemis stayed the bow of the huntress who had just fired the bow. Perseus's eyebrows raised quizzically as he beheld her—of the six maidens who now hunted with Artemis in the recently-formed group, this one was new. This was one he did not know. She, however, seemingly knew of him. Or, as is more likely, knew of what he had done (according to Artemis), judging by the glares he was receiving at the moment

This time, he fought to restrain the temper that arose as he beheld the moon goddess, not wanting to become distracted for a second time. His eyes darkened and his glare deepened, but his mind remained rational and free of the physical urge to cast the person in front of him over a cliff (though the mental desire still remained).

Yet… it was hard at times to maintain that anger. As he beheld her now, more deeply than the previous time, he could see that she had changed. She was still as breathtakingly beautiful as ever, with a youthful grace about her, yet her eyes were still so deep. But overall she appeared… diminished.

The way she stood now, with her graceful crescent bow drawn and aimed at his own breast, gave off the impression of _unease_. Perseus could see the way her eyes blinked ever so slightly more rapidly than usual; he could see the almost imperceptible twitch in her lips every few seconds; he could see the vein pulsing in her forehead. Her limbs were rigidly locked, not fluidly relaxed like usual. He took all this in, and he could see that the goddess was not herself.

On the surface she remained composed, aloof. Yet for several moments they did naught but stare at each other, silver eyes locked entirely on sea green eyes. Emotion unreadable passed through the eyes of each other, though their faces remained masks in the night. In her eyes, Perseus could see the hurricane of feelings she felt at that moment.

Just as last time, the air was silent between the two parties, none daring to break the silence just yet. Perseus could hear each individual breath of the Huntresses, the steady cadence their composed breathing gave to the chilled air. The only movement was the constant rocking of their chests as their breath was pulled in and pushed out, for the chase he had led them on was extensive indeed.

When the goddess spoke to the mortal for the first time, the words of her pure voice fell smoothly upon his ears like a cascading stream, and he caught his breath as he heard her voice once more.

"Tell me it is not true," was all she said, for that was all that was needed.

A hammer pounded behind the eyes of Perseus. He knew there were so many ways to answer this, to defend himself… yet there was only one question she was asking, and that question had but a single answer.

Without word, he slipped the pack off his shoulder, letting it dangle in his hand for a moment before he reached inside. Never breaking the gaze of Artemis, he wordlessly pulled forth a crackling sheath of lightning from the pack, the bolt extending and flashing as he held the powerful weapon as his own.

The huntresses instinctively stepped back even as they aimed their arrows upon Perseus, though he made no motion against him. No, his eyes were still locked upon Artemis's eyes as a shadow passed over her face. Her brows pinched and her features hardened in that moment as all hope abandoned her.

Perseus raised the first Bolt of Zeus to his eyes, admiring the veins of pure electricity that coursed in his hands, the white-hot plasma that jetted about in the Bolt. In his grasp was raw, unbridled power, power that even he did not possess when he was the immortal Champion of Olympus. The bolt seemed to feel the power that still resided in Perseus, and it responded to it, accepting him. It did not reject the touch of Poseidon's son, as was expected. No, the greatest warrior of days past grasped the most powerful weapon in the world and, faced with those who would stop him in his endeavor…he stowed the Bolt away, rejecting its power and storing it back in the pack, slinging it upon his shoulder without having said a single word.

He met those silver eyes once again, as if daring her to speak. She obliged.

"Make no move, lest you find your body the new quiver for my arrows," the goddess warned from across the snow, though her voice trembled ever so slightly.

He ignored her, beginning to pace across the snow, twirling his sword in his hand as he walked, as if to amuse himself.

"Halt!"

Once more he paid no heed, kicking the snow in front of him as he ambled onwards, making a circle around the goddess's group.

"Why do you not speak, _mortal_?" hissed the angry voice of the Artemis.

This stopped Perseus on instantly, and he brought his gaze up to the moon above. His expression couldn't been seen by the huntresses, though they could see how tense he had become and the exhalation of his breath was loud as he seemingly tried to control it.

"You and I both know your arrows would never find their mark," he taunted with his back turned to his enemies.

Her brows drew together in confusion for a moment, but he spoke on before she could respond.

"And would not your father be upset if he himself was not the one to strike me down?"

"He would be furious were he not the one to kill you," recovered the goddess, "though he would prefer you dead to free."

Perseus sighed. "You see, this is the kind of intrafamilial bloodshed that gives us a bad reputation amongst the mortals."

Against her will, Artemis's lips twitched upwards for a moment at the sarcasm. "Yes, I suppose it does," she mused.

The mortal turned around to face her, and she was surprised to see something close to a smile on his face. "Although I suppose I am one of those mortals now… and I entirely disapprove of the gods' methods."

A surge of anger flicked through the goddess's mind. "You stole Zeus's Bolt," she stated bluntly.

He grimaced. "Ah, yes, there is that unfortunate bit of information."

Her voice became more grave as she responded. "You have been aiding enemies of Olympus."

Now it was he who fell into seriousness as a darkness passed over his face. "Do not accuse me of such lies."

Silver eyes narrowed. "It is not something you can deny, mortal. You will face the Council for judgement."

Looking back to Artemis, he sneered. "And you think you are able to overtake me? You never could match me."

The goddess's eyes burned with a silver fury. "I will break you, _man_ , and drag you into chains to Olympus like the traitor you are. I will throw you at my Father's feet and watch as he condemns you to Tartarus for eternity or sends your soul flying to Erebus."

He could not deceive himself: hearing those cutting words come from her mouth struck him deeply. Yet he could also see the flash of pain in _her_ own eyes as she uttered the proclamation.

Waves roared in Perseus's ears and his vision tinged red. He strode wordlessly up to Artemis, slashing aside the arrows that were shot at him, until he came to rest at the tip of Artemis's silver hunting knife. He felt the cool point of the blade on his sternum, but he glared deep into silver eyes. Foremost on his mind was the desire, the _urge_ , to break her.

"You were so quick to believe the lies, to cast me aside," he said in a deadly silent voice. "To hear when your father decried me, not knowing what had happened between the two of us. You were not there; you _know_ your father's temper… yet you left me to my fate alone, unjust as it was."

"Keep your lies behind your teeth!" she commanded with barely-concealed anger. "You dare approach me in your guilt and plead your innocence?"

With a cry he swept out his arm, colliding with her hunting knife and sending it flying into a snow drift. At once, the huntresses aimed arrows at him, but he made no movement. He and Artemis continued to stare each other down from a short distance, though the rage coming off Perseus was felt in the air.

"You betrayed me in an instant, believing what your father said in his rage!"

"You betrayed _me_!" she shouted, her eyes starting to glisten even as she shouted at him with malice. "You betrayed Olympus!" she corrected. "You were the greatest of us all, the most loved by the mortals… and you would throw it away for power!"

"Foolish girl!" he cried, "I have no need for power!"

"For what reason have you risen up against us then?" she cried, her furious eyes baring the barest traces of wetness.

"Your father would not heed my warnings, accusing me of consorting with the Defeated! I have no desire to destroy you but to save you!"

At this, the face of Artemis became a serious, cold mask. "You lie once more. Perhaps once I believed you, but I cannot bear the pain of your poisonous deceit again. When you stole my father's Bolt after declaring your innocence, you cleaved my trust in twain."

"Must I swear by the River?"

"Oaths are so easily broken, so lightly held… even by the Styx," she countered. "Keep your cowardly lies to yourself."

With a roar, the bronze blade of Perseus whistled through the air, only to be knocked aside by newly-appearing hunting knives. Bronze met silver in flashes of light once more in a deadly struggle. It was clear that the man was more skilled in combat and with a blade, though the powers of the goddess threatened to overwhelm him in the struggle.

The handmaidens of Artemis cried out at the instantaneous start of battle, nocking arrows and attempting to catch the man in their sights. The dueling pair moved so quickly in battle that no arrows could be loosed without the threat of skewering the wrong target. Due to this, several drew their own knives and charged the man, only to be kicked or swatted away effortlessly.

This battle truly was a battle meant for two, as was the previous.

Unlike the last time, however, the man had just finished a battle of his own. His energy reserves were depleted; mortal exhaustion burdened his limbs. Soon, he found himself on his back, a silver blade at his throat and three crimson slashes in his black tunic.

Over heavy breathing, he glared ferociously down the length of the blade at the silver eyes. It was in these moments that the forest once more fell silent as nature watched. The man's chest rose and fell at a constant, labored beat while the shoulders of the goddess ever so slightly moved to the rhythm of her breath.

The silence was marred as the handmaidens ran up to their mistress, bows aimed at their enemy who they finally had at their mercy. After weeks of humiliating defeat and pursuit, they finally captured their game.

The goddess, rather than allowing the taunting smile to adorn her face as she desired, glared down at the mortal awaiting judgement. "And now you will meet the fate you deserve."

Perseus neither flinched nor allowed any new emotion to mark his face. He continued to let his anger, his obvious disdain, show towards his captors. "You know not what you have done."

"I have captured a traitor to be delivered to the Lord of the Gods for justice, for a well-deserved fate."

"You let your pride, your _anger_ , cloud your vision and judgement. In this, you will have doomed the earth to chaos."

Artemis snarled. "Do not lecture me. I know what it is I do, and I desire nothing more than to see you thrown down once more, for a final time."

His glare deepened. Suddenly, the earth began to shake violently, seemingly targeting the handmaidens and sending them to the ground where they were left unconscious. Artemis herself tumbled, only to catch herself before she hit the ground. She looked up and her face paled.

Perseus stood above her, awash in a sea blue light. With a slight wave of his hand, the tremors ceased and all was still again, though the land around them was strewn with debris and wreckage of rock.

The goddess drew herself to her feet gracefully, preparing for battle once more with wide eyes. For several moments her mouth moved wordlessly as she struggled to speak those thoughts that raced about her mind. At last, she was able to force out a single word:

" _How_?" she asked in disbelief.

He spread his arms out wide. "When your father stripped me of my immortality, my _Olympian_ power, he forgot one thing: I was a god of the sea, a son of Poseidon, before I was an Olympian… there was some power Zeus simply did not think to take from me… nor would he be able to."

He did not speak of how strenuous it had been to summon those powers in his weakened state; he did not let the exhaustion that clasped his limbs show. He did not reveal his panicked need to escape now, before he no longer had the strength to do so. He maintained the image of strength, of valor, as a desperate plan formed in his mind.

As the mind of Artemis raced through the implications of the revelation, she readied herself to fight the enemy once more; the enemy who was now thought to be more dangerous than previously.

Yet as she prepared for the clash of blades and a struggle for life or death, something even more surprising happened: tingles ran up her arm as a firm hand softly grasped her side and pulled her closer. There was a second of complete shock and stillness as she felt his cool, salty breath on her face.

His lips met hers.

Everything went numb. In an instant, all rational thought left her mind as she focused entirely on the taste, the feeling of his lips. Memories of days past flashed through her mind; her body seemed to spark as if she had been shocked by lightning, and her legs went completely sensationless.

But as soon as it had started, it had stopped. Unprepared for the sudden lack of support, the goddess fell to her knees in the snow, not sure at all of what had just happened. Her mind was still fuzzy, still pulsing with thoughts of him and the sensation that was now replaced with the bitter kiss of winter air.

Looking up, she was greeted with the image of nothing. No person stood there; it was but the curious rocks and trees.

She understood then, and tears began to fall freely down her face. A cavern seemed to open up in her chest, a cavern that was simply emptiness.

He had used her. He had taken advantage of her feelings, of her reactions, and he had escaped. There was no anger yet, for that would come later. Now, there was simply emptiness and longing.

The goddess remained there, in the snow, as everything that had transpired played through her mind. She was the Goddess of the Hunt, the Moon, the ruler of the great wild! The escape of a mortal man should not bother the eternally young and beautiful Huntress… yet when her huntresses stirred and arose, they found their mistress lying in the snow, her shoulders shaking.

For under the veiled moon, Artemis wept.

* * *

 **Well, there it is! Because there hasn't been that many, I'm just going to ask all of you to leave a review and tell me what you think of this or what I could do better with it. Thanks for reading and have a great day!**

 **~TheDragon12**


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